ing out his arms.

"Well! what is it?" she asked, with crushing haughtiness. "Are you
frightened at having gained your cause so quickly?"

And as Serge did not speak:

"Come," added she, "you will have a handsome fee; Micheline's dower will
be worth the trouble you have had."

They heard Cayrol's hurried steps ascending the stairs.

"You have done me the honor to call me, Mademoiselle," said he,
remaining on the threshold of the drawing-room. "Am I fortunate enough
at length to have found favor in your eyes?"

"Here is my hand," said Mademoiselle de Cernay, simply tendering him her
white taper fingers, which he covered with kisses.

Madame Desvarennes had come in behind the banker. She uttered a joyous
exclamation.

"Cayrol, you shall not marry Jeanne for her beauty alone. I will give
her a dower."

Micheline fell on her companion's neck. It was a concert of
congratulations. But Jeanne, with a serious air, led Cayrol aside:

"I wish to act honestly toward you, sir; I yield to the pleading of
which I am the object. But you must know that my sentiments do not
change so quickly. It is my hand only which I give you today."

"I have not the conceitedness to think that you love me, Mademoiselle,"
said Cayrol, humbly. "You give me your hand; it will be for me to gain
your heart, and with time and sincere affection I do not despair of
winning it. I am truly happy, believe me, for the favor you do me, and
all my life long shall be spent in proving my gratitude to you."

Jeanne was moved; she glanced at Cayrol, and did not think him so
common-looking as usual. She resolved to do all in her power to like
this good man.

Serge, in taking leave of Madame Desvarennes, said:

"In exchange for all the happiness which you give me, I have only my
life to offer; accept it, Madame, it is yours."

The mistress looked at the Prince deeply; then, in a singular tone,
said:

"I accept it; from to-day you belong to me."

Marechal took Pierre by the arm and led him outside.

"The Prince has just uttered words which remind me of Antonio saying to
the Jew in 'The Merchant of Venice': 'Thy ducats in exchange for a
pound of my flesh.' Madame Desvarennes loves her daughter with a more
formidable love than Shylock had for his gold. The Prince will do well
to be exact in his payments of the happiness which he has promised."

CHAPTER VIII. A PLEASANT UNDERSTANDING

The day following this memorable evening, Pierre left for A